Chapter Text
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one
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It was after the death of his mother that Daisuke began to see the numbers.
Something about the force of the grief that hit and swallowed him whole brought forth some latent ability of his. Of course, the confused child of eight years that clung onto his grandmother’s legs after the funeral knew nothing of this. He didn’t question the dim glow above his grandmother’s head. He couldn’t. Not when he was broken.
It probably meant nothing, anyway.
---
It took him several months after to finally open up to his cousin about the numbers.
“Numbers?” Suzue asks, pausing in her jenga game with stacks of hundreds. “I dunno anything about that. I think Auntie might’ve, though.”
But Auntie wasn’t here anymore.
“No glowing thingy on top of grandma’s head?” he asked.
She shook her head, confusion doubling. “No.”
“...Never mind then.”
He left Suzue to her ministrations to think.
---
The next incident with the numbers was when he worked up the courage to ask his grandmother at the age of twelve.
“Don’t you dare speak of that again,” the older woman reprimands sternly. “That god awful power of your mother’s turned her so lovesick she passed away. I will hear nothing more of it.”
“But grandma-”
“I refuse!” she shrieks shrilly, shaking her head. “Do not mention such things in my presence ever again, do you hear?”
Daisuke’s lower lip trembles at the strict tone, but he is older now, wiser, more mature. Daisuke absolutely does not cry.
“Yes,” he croaks, head spinning.
“Good,” his grandma huffs. She doesn’t say a word, even as the lone tear makes its way down Daisuke’s face, and her number drops by the hundreds.
---
Fifteen years have passed. Daisuke is no longer a kid.
Through a few incidents growing up, he’s had more insight as to what the numbers might mean, but he’s never really gotten a straight answer to their purpose. He’s made some informed assumptions though, but nothing he’s thought of completely fit the narrative. But through his experiences, however, he could state something about his power with relative confidence.
Daisuke could see the numerical value of what a person meant to him.
It was strange to say the least, but it made sense.
The number over his mother's grave only increased with each passing year he visited. The one over his cousin remained steady in the seven hundreds range, jumping up to the eights or lowering to the sixes depending on whether they fought or not. His grandmother’s had eventually gone back up to the five hundreds after their bout, and usually stayed there throughout the years. He’s yet to see his father’s, but if he did, he’s sure it’d be in the negatives, if even possible.
Everyone else— strangers, people he’s never seen before, impersonal relations— they tended to wander in the forties to fifties range. They don’t mean much to him, and that’s not to say he didn’t care for them at all in the context of human life, but he just didn’t care for them with the same energy he cared for his family members. It would take a lot of work on their part for their numbers to rise, as Daisuke had a hard time letting people into his personal life. He dubbed this range the range of normalcy. For anyone to be above sixty without having prior knowledge of their existence was rare.
So when he strolls into the room full of detectives, he’s not surprised to see bland numbers floating lazily on top of everyone’s head; a forty-one over the pink haired woman, a fifty over the lanky blonde, matching forty-sevens for the two older men with glasses, and a fifty-two for the guy with thick brows and an undercut.
But what he was surprised to see was the number above the final man. He had messy dust brown hair, tired hazel eyes narrowed in concentration as he read several documents in his hands. At the sound of Daisuke’s entrance he looks up lazily, giving him a once-over before returning to his work. Daisuke has to make an effort to keep from staring at the space above his head numbly.
The man’s number is zero.
Zero .
He’s never seen a zero before.
One of the older men, portly in the face with a golden smile, waves at him, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Welcome to the Modern Crime Prevention Task Force. You’re Daisuke, right?”
The man stands from his seat and rounds his table, jutting out a hand in greeting. “My name is Kiyomizu Yukihiro. I’m the Division Chief here.”
Daisuke takes his hand slowly, the revelation of earlier still reeling through his mind. “Kambe Daisuke.”
The man grins again, and Daisuke relaxes just the slightest. Yukihiro had an ability to draw someone in, make them feel welcome, and his wiles sure worked on him.
“Welcome in Daisuke,” he bids again, squeezing before letting go of his hand. He motions to the office, where the scant workers all watch him with various levels of curiosity of their faces.
“This is our humble abode! I hope you’ll find yourself at home here soon.”
Daisuke’s eyes flicker down to the man whose number was zero. He scowls up at him, tsking before deftly ignoring him. His number drops to negative five. Daisuke blinks in surprise. He’s never seen a negative number before, either.
This man was giving him more knowledge about the numbers by the minute. Regardless of the answers he provided, it still raises so many questions. Why wasn’t he in the normal range? Why did he think so little of this man?
And what did it all even mean?
“You all, introduce yourselves.” Yukihiro makes his way back to his desk and plops back down in it with a sigh. “And Haru! Show him around after.”
The man who scowled at him earlier turns to his boss in exasperation. “But sir!”
The Chief inclines his head. “What?”
“I don’t want anything to do with him,” he mutters just loud enough for Daisuke to hear. “He seems like the rich asshole type.”
“Funny how you judge me before you’ve even so much as spoken to me,” Daisuke drawls. “Aren’t you a cop?”
“Yeah, but am I wrong?” Haru challenges, annoyance filtering into his voice.
Daisuke hums in thought. “No, not exactly,” he snickers.
The forty-one from earlier bounds up to him, pink hair swinging behind her. “I’m Mahoro Saeki! I love sweets!”
Daisuke furrows his brows as she digs in a purse and offers him a candy. “Want one?”
“No thanks,” he scoffs, pushing the gummy away from his mouth.
“Chosuke Nakamoto,” the other elder man announces from his seat. He waves a hand in greeting, and Daisuke nods in his direction.
“Teppei Yumoto,” the final man introduces, “nice to meet you.”
“You as well,” Daisuke grunts, pulling out a cigar and lighting up. “Happy to make your acquaintance.”
Haru makes a face as he sucks in the nicotine. “You can not be serious.”
Daisuke walks over to his chair, places a forearm on the back end, and leans down, blowing a slow stream into the man’s face. “I am,” he murmurs with a smirk.
Haru glares up at him through teary eyes, coughing all the while. His number jumps down to negative fifty, and Daisuke frowns, heart clenching in his chest.
“Dude,” the man next to Haru speaks up, “you can’t smoke in here.”
Daisuke casually removes the cigar from his lips. “And you are?”
“Shinnosuke Kamei,” he introduces, face twisted into slight indignation.
“Alright, Kame,” Daisuke huffs, “Let’s mind our own business, yeah?”
“It’s Kamei .”
“Daisuke,” a stern voice interrupts. The man turns to the Chief, who was watching him with pursed lips. “Have Haru show you to the roof. You may smoke there.”
Daisuke licks the nicotine from his lips. “Haru?”
Haru sighs from deep in his throat, standing. “Me, smart one. Come on, follow.”
---
It’s a windy day out.
It tousles his hair to the side, nips at the end of his cigar. Daisuke leans against the railing and looks out over the city, calm for the moment, bustling with busybodies going to and fro.
Haru stands a ways behind him. “You’re joining our division, right?”
“Yes,” Daisuke affirms, “I am.”
Haru seems to struggles with something internally, then shakes his head. “Well, your first impression was pretty bad, but welcome. I’ll show you around after you’re done.”
His number jumps back up to negative nineteen, and Daisuke’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the change. No one’s number has ever bounced around so much so quickly. He would have to ask HEUSC when he gets back home.
“Thank you, Detective,” he smiles around the cigar. “I look forward to our companionship.”
Haru flounders at that, slightly flustered, but pulls himself back together quickly. “...Of course. As long as you don’t pull that stunt from the office earlier again.”
“What stunt?” Daisuke asks with a smirk, meandering towards the taller man. He takes another drag and blows it in Haru’s face, who sidesteps the cloud a moment too late. “This one?”
“Ugh!” Haru wipes at the smoke in disdain, turning to glare at him. “You’re such a prick!”
His number goes up to negative four.
“Come on, Haru,” Daisuke jerks his chin to the door. “Show me around so I can go home.”
The man scowls at the casual use of his first name, then marches past Daisuke, grumbling something about rich bastards. The shorter man follows him with a smug grin.
---
Daisuke could barely concentrate on anything that Haru was saying.
As they passed room after room and went down hallway after hallway, the man became more engrossed in the man’s number slowly trailing upwards rather than the words coming out of his mouth. The number slowly went from negative four to three, then two, then remained at one.
It’s an intriguing sight, really, seeing someone’s value change so rapidly, so of course he wasn’t listening to the drabble Haru sprout. The most Daisuke catches is about some First Division, and how Haru used to be stationed there, but that’s about it. He’s more interested in exactly why the number was moving, and why it did so frequently. But he has no one to turn to but his own mind for help, so he keeps the thoughts to himself.
They arrive at the front doors to the building, signaling the end of their tour. Haru places his hands on his hips, frowning. “Hey. Are you even listening to me?”
“Not really,” Daisuke admits with a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t really care for the details. I already had the layout of this building memorized.”
The man in front makes a choked sound, whirling on him in anger. “Then why did you want me to show you around?”
“I didn’t,” Daisuke says simply. “Yukihiro did.”
Haru curls his fists into shaking balls of thinly masked resentment, eyes narrowed into slits. “God, why are you so-”
Daisuke claps a hand on his shoulder. “Getting so riled all the time will give you early wrinkles, Haru.”
Haru looks like he wants to strangle him. “I-...you-...”
“Hush. Think on it,” Daisuke smirks. “Then talk.”
The raven haired saunters away from him then, chuckling to himself as he leaves the brunette a garbling mess of words and emotions.
“Damn you, Daisuke!” Haru settles with, shaking his fist in the direction of the retreating man. “I hate people like you!”
Daisuke looks back over his shoulder, throwing the man a knowing smile. He rounds a corner then, stepping just out of the taller man’s sight, but not before he sees the negative one floating above his head turn back into a zero.
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